My mom was in her office. Her door was open, which meant I could go in. I did, and slumped into the chair in front of her desk. She smiled at me and closed the file she was writing in.
“Mom, I’m in love with Kevin. I think that means I’m gay.”
She smiled at me. Not a laughing-at-me smile, not an amused-at-what-I-was-saying smile, not a condescending smile a knowledgeable adult gives to a rather empty-headed small child, but an empathetic smile, full of love and concern.
“You’re not beating around the bush and being defensive this time, Matt.”
“I don’t know whether I’m gay, but I’m in love with Kevin. I do know that. He kissed me, and I kissed him back. I know I love him. I don’t really know if I’m gay, but I know how I feel about Kevin. I don’t know if, when I go to college, I’ll meet a girl and fall in love with her. I don’t know if I’ll love Kevin next year. How am I supposed to know these things?”
“Matt, no one knows those things. If I were more your psychiatrist than your mother, I’d start trying to figure out why you worry about everything so much and don’t just get on with living your life. One reason you worry, I think, is because you don’t have as much self-confidence as you should. Lots of young people lack that, and in many of them it causes undue worry. I know you worry a lot. It becomes a problem when you let it stop you from doing what you want to do. You told me once that you have no self-esteem. Both your father and I have tried the past two years to help you build some. And you are better now, but it’s something you have to solve for yourself, how you feel about your own worth. You do still worry, though. Matt, at some point we have to just expect that everything’s going to be fine and be happy, not worry that the sky is going to fall on us. Worrying about things you can’t control is not the healthiest way to be.”
“You sound like Kevin. He told me something like that today. He doesn’t want me to worry about what’s going to happen tomorrow. He wants us to be together today.”
“And you told him no? Yes, I can see from your face you told him no. Was this before or after you kissed him?”
I grimaced, and she rushed on before I could respond.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re in no mood for humor. I know you. You frequently try to take the edge off your feelings with humor, but underneath, you’re awfully serious about things most of the time. Why did you tell Kevin no, now that you know you love him?”
“Because he’s too young for me.”
She didn’t answer that right away. She looked at me, then swiveled her chair so she could look out her window while she thought. Then she swiveled back.
“If you’ve decided that, then I guess you’ve decided it. He is a couple of years younger. So I guess you’ll just be friends?”
“That’s my plan. He’s not real happy with it. Are you saying I’m not doing the right thing? That I should do what he wants, have sex?”
“No, I’m not telling you what to do. That’s your decision to make. How you run your life is up to you. And I’m proud of your decisions. I’m not going to make them for you, though, unless I think you’re way out of line with something and you’ll get hurt. This is your decision and you’ve thought it out and made it.”
“How come you never tell me what to do? Other moms and dads love telling their kids what to do. They do it all the time.”
“That isn’t the best way to help someone grow up, Matt. You have to make your own decisions soon, all of them. We watch what you do. And we’ll step in if we have to. And if you were impulsive or loved risk-taking or had some other traits that meant we had to hold your reins tighter, we would. But you’re not like that. We’re proud of you. You make very good decisions. “
I thought about that, and realized this was just the same as she always was. She’d discuss things with me, give me things to think about, different perspectives, but then let me decide things on my own. I was delighted with that most of the time. Other times, it frustrated the hell out of me.
“Okay, Mom, I get it. But what I want to know is, am I gay? Does knowing I love him mean that?”
“There isn’t any hard and fast, any accurate definition for what gay means, Matt. It’s a very broad concept. The fact you love a boy certainly would be proof enough for a lot of people. I think, if you want to know more about yourself in that regard, you need to think about how you feel about boys in general, and girls in general, and think about what excites you and what doesn’t. Think about having sex with both groups and how that makes you feel. Boys your age think about that a lot, and I’m sure you have. You probably already know the answer. You may well have thought for some time you are gay, and have been denying it. Many, many people who are predominantly gay do that. And of course, many researchers agree with Alfred Kinsey that most people are attracted to people of the same sex to differing extents, so by that measure, depending on how you define it, most of us are gay to some degree. Whatever measure you put on yourself, you still have to choose how you’re going to live your life. That’s up to you, and that’s what’s important. Not what label you decide best fits you. To be happy, most counselors will tell you that you must listen to what your instincts are telling you, you must know yourself, and not deny your feelings. If you aren’t sexually excited by girls, choosing to marry one and live as a heterosexual man can be very difficult, although again, some men do this.
“If you’re not sure of yourself, not sure what you want, just remember, you don’t need to be. We talked about this before. You’re in high school, you live at home, and you simply don’t need to make that choice for yourself yet. When the time comes that you do, most likely you’ll know the answer. More than likely, you won’t have these questions. You’ll be more mature and you’ll have the answers, you’ll know what’s right for you, and you’ll be ready.”
I thought about that, and felt some comfort. The fact of the matter was, I wasn’t ready for this yet. I
hadn’t been when I talked to her before Kevin came over that first time, and I wasn’t now. I realized,
though, I did have a better sense of myself now than I had had then.
I looked at her, seeing her warmth, her love. Just her look felt like a hug. “Mom, you really don’t care if I’m gay?”
“What I care about is that you’re happy. I know your heart, Matt. You’re a wonderful boy. I want you to be happy, to find the right person for you, to live a full and productive life, a life brimming over with love. That’s what I care about. Whom you choose to be with, the person who fulfills your needs, that will be your choice, and you’ll probably know who that is without any question or uncertainty at all, when the time is right. All parents worry about the person their sons and daughters will choose. We tend to be very picky, not believing anyone can be good enough for our children. But whether you choose a boy or a girl, that’s not what I worry about. Nor does your dad. I think we might have a different perspective than many parents. A lot of my clients are gay kids. Your father deals with kids, teens, every day, and a portion of them are gay. So we both know gay kids, and they don’t frighten us. We know they’re just other kids. We don’t worry about that with you. We only want you to be happy.”
I went to her and threw my arms around her.
We held that hug, neither wanting to let go. I felt better, walking back up to my room, but there was still a hollowness in me I couldn’t just ignore. I was in love, in love with Kevin. I knew that. I accepted it. So, why wasn’t I feeling the joy, the ecstasy everyone writes about when they fall in love? Well, I did feel some of that. When I just thought about the fact I loved him, and he loved me, and especially when I pictured him in my mind, I felt some of that. But I also felt some pain, some misgivings, some uncertainty. Was I supposed to feel that, too? I was thinking hard on that when I walked into my room and saw my pre-calculus book still lying there, stealthily awaiting my return.
◊ ◊
Kevin came over the next day. He wanted to talk, but I was antsy and told him we needed to swim right then. So we changed into our suits. He had two of them he kept at my house because we swam so often. I liked seeing him in a bathing suit, all right? So shoot me.
When we’d done a couple laps, and were in the shallow end, he grabbed me to stop me from swimming more.
“Matt, we’re going to talk.”
“I’d rather swim.”
“You can. But we’re going to talk first.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
He gave me a dirty look when I said that. Then he said, “Sometimes I think I’m the older one and you’re the younger one. You can’t just avoid this, you know.”
“Avoid what?”
He shook his head at me. He just stood still in the waist deep water looking disgusted and shaking his head. Finally, he said, “Matt, we kissed yesterday. I kissed you, and you kissed me back. We both had strong feelings about that. I told you I loved you. I do love you. And you can’t deny I’m more than just a friend. You wouldn’t have kissed me like that, hugged me like that, held me like that, if you didn’t feel at least some of what I do. So, talk to me about that. That’s what you’re avoiding.”
“It won’t do any good, Kevin.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean talking isn’t going to change anything. Yes, I liked what we did yesterday. Yes, my feelings for you keep getting stronger. Yes, you’re much more to me than a friend. But nothing’s changed.”
His face changed then; it saddened. He finally looked away. I felt horrible.
“Kevin, this is why I didn’t want to start anything. It can’t go anywhere, and that hurts us both,” I said plaintively
“So we can’t be boyfriends? I thought, after yesterday, you would agree to be my boyfriend.”
I didn’t reply. What could I say? I couldn’t say what he wanted to hear. I couldn’t give him that hope when I knew it was wrong and I couldn’t allow myself to do what the label implied. I really couldn’t be his boyfriend.
I saw him waiting for my reply, and he seemed to physically shrink in size as the silence lengthened. I was having a hard time holding it together. Every word he said to me was hurting me more. Seeing him in pain, seeing him disillusioned, was almost too much. I had to make him feel better. He looked like a broken puppy now, looking down at the water, his shoulders slumped, his pain apparent.
“Kevin?”
He just stood there.
“Kevin, I love you.”
At that, his head came up. He looked at me, and I saw he had tears in his eyes. But when he spoke, there was hope in his voice. “You do?”
“I love you, Kevin. But nothing else has changed. I can’t be what you want. I’m not ready for that yet, and I don’t see how you can possibly wait long enough so I will be. I don’t know if I ever will. I do know I love you, though. I love how you look, and I love your cockiness and attitude towards life and courage and personality and everything about you. That’s what makes this so hard. We can only be friends for now, and maybe for always, but I do love you.”
He was moving toward me in the water, and when I finished, he was right next to me. He put his hands on my shoulders and jumped up, wrapping his legs around my waist. Then he kissed me. A quick kiss. Not like yesterday’s kiss. But a kiss.
The cocky glint was back in his eye. He slipped back down into the water, then splashed me. I just stood there, emotional, and let him. He stopped, swam away a stroke or two, then dogpaddled in place and said, “I knew I was going to have to wait. You already told me that. I’m prepared. At least now I know I’m waiting for something that’s going to happen. But tell me, Matt, when won’t I be too young for you? So I know how long I’ll have to wait.
“You say you’re too old for me. Well, when won’t you be? At what age can we be together?”
“I’m not sure. I never thought about that.”
“Well, when?”
I considered it, then told him, “I guess when I’m 25 and you’re 23, that might be okay.”
Kevin frowned at me. “That’s just stupid, and I think you’re saying it that way just to discourage me, but it’s not going to work. We’ll be together before that, before I’m out of college for sure. But, okay, have it your way for the sake of argument, that I’m going to wait. I’ll wait till I’m 23 and you’re 25. That’s nine years. That’ll be hard, but you’re the one I want, and if it means waiting, I’m going to do it. Just so you know. I’ll wait. Now that we have that decided, and it’s for real, this is what we’ll do. We’re going to be together then, so let’s start fooling around now. Just to practice.”
“Kevin! No! You’re too young.”
“I’m not too young for sex! I’m about at my peak. I’m ready. But practice makes perfect, and I haven’t had any sex practice at all, and I don’t want to disappoint you, nine years from now. I say we begin practicing right away.”
I looked at him in admiration and frustration. He just never gave up. I had to get us out of this conversation, for my own sanity. I didn’t have the tenacity he did. So, I splashed him. And laughed.
He laughed back at me, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.
◊ ◊
The Mozart was trickier than it looked. I spent time working on it, working it up, and within a couple of weeks knew that I would be able to do it, especially in the spring. It lay well for the fingers, and even though it was going to take some real effort on my part to play it at the level I wanted to, making it musically compelling and technically effortless-sounding, I knew I’d be able to.
Mr. T. had been talking to me a lot, before and after band practice. We had a lot of new clarinetists this year. Mr. T. wanted me to take them in hand. He wanted me to really be the section leader. He told me they would look up to me because of my position in the band, that they would respect me because of that, and that they would listen to me and take a cue from me on how to act. He said I didn’t have to act anything other than like myself, and that leaders, the good ones, almost always were themselves when dealing with those they were leading. He told me if I was phony, if I put on airs, or if I did things that weren’t natural for me, they’d see that, and while they’d still follow me, they’d know I was acting. He said leadership was difficult and demanded dedication, honesty and giving of oneself for the group.
He also spoke to the band about this. He told all of us that as the football team and the volleyball team and the basketball team had to work together to win, had to meld their personalities and skills together and not worry about self, but about team, if we were going to be our best, it was the same in our band. He told us we had to listen to each other, and play so our individual instruments didn’t stand out, but instead were part of a homogenous whole. He told us all the second trumpets had to sound like one trumpet, and the same held true for each group of instruments. Besides that, he said the second trumpets had to blend with the first trumpets, and so did the thirds, so the balance was right and the trumpet section as a whole was a balanced blend that epitomized togetherness; and all the trumpets together had to blend with the trombones and the flutes and the other instruments. He told us our music was marked with tempo and loudness directives, and that he, in the front, would also let us know to play louder or softer, faster or slower, but we as individuals had to be responsible for ourselves, because we had 85 players, and he didn’t have time to control each one of them. That we had to listen and play as part of the team, as well as we could.
He talked to me privately about the clarinets. I was to be responsible for how they acted in rehearsals, when and what they practiced, what their attitude in the band room was. He wanted kids to be kids, but he wanted them to know when to be serious, too. And he wanted me to be their leader in that.
He told me that when we were rehearsing, I should spend some time moving around in the section instead of playing, listening to the other players, learning how good they were and what they needed to work on individually to get better, and what they needed to do to be better band members, not just band players.
I started doing this, and it felt weird. Everyone else was playing, and my clarinet was lying on my chair and I was back with the third clarinets, listening. I felt a little like a spy, like a traitor, like a snitch. After the first rehearsal where I’d done that, I told Mr. T. how I felt.
“You feel that way because you think they’ll resent you being there. You think they’ll resent you for judging them. You’re in a position lots of people occupy, and it’s tricky. It’s sometimes called middle management. You’re in two camps, the adult, professional camp I represent, and the peer camp you also belong to. Sergeants in the army, and supervisors who’ve been promoted from the ranks of hourly workers, feel just what you’re feeling when they first get those jobs.
“There are ways for you to do your job where you can walk between those two camps with confidence, without antagonizing either side, fitting in both places. You need to figure out how to work with your clarinets so they’re pleased you’re helping them, they’re glad to have you come back with them. Think for a minute. Can you figure out one way to do that?”
With any other teacher, I’d have felt on the spot when he asked that, but with him, I was very comfortable, and the question intrigued me, so I thought about it instead of worrying that I might look silly to him. And something came to me right away.
“Yeah, I can. That freshman girl, I think her name is Josie, she had a very good sound, much better than young kids usually do, and played in tune. And the boy next to her, Robert, he sight-read the syncopation in the Anderson piece perfectly. I told both of them that, and I could see the tension in them disappear. I think if I compliment people, they won’t mind me being there.”
Mr. T. laughed. “You know Matt, you act like you’re real nervous about doing the concertmaster job, but you’re really good at it. I think you’re a reluctant leader, but you seem to figure things out pretty fast. You have good instincts. That’s a great way to act with these guys. Complimenting them works well, as long as you’re sincere and honest. Another thing to do is, when they’re doing something wrong, don’t just tell them it’s wrong or that they’re screwing up. They probably already know it. Instead, tell them you noticed something they were doing that they could do more easily another way, or that could be improved on by slowing the tempo down when they’re practicing it till they know what their fingers should be doing, and then demonstrate to them how to do it. Usually mistakes come from the wrong technique, or just not practicing something enough. You’ll be able to tell which, and then find a way to get them to improve. With positive comments, not negative ones. And with humor when it’s appropriate.”
He was right. I was able to work with all the clarinets, and if I was supportive and helpful rather than critical and judgmental, no one seemed to mind what I was doing. I adopted that technique, and no one seemed to resent my excursions into the depths of the section during rehearsals.
I also learned something else. We had a better clarinet section than I’d realized, but the firsts were really good. We had six firsts, and three of them were amazing. I hadn’t known that before.
◊ ◊
We were playing basketball in gym now. Christmas was fast approaching, and the Christmas concert was next week, just before the school went on break. I would think about snow on the ground, kids bundled up in heavy coats, their cheeks red from the cold wind. That, of course, was in places like Minnesota and New Hampshire, even Ohio and Colorado. Here, we still wore shorts to school and ate lunch outside. On some days, kids would wear sweaters or sweatshirts, but that was rare. The days were still mostly in the 70’s, even the 80’s. We had bright sun, cloudless skies were the rule, and skiing was done on Mt. Baldy, an hour’s drive to the northeast. We could ski in the morning and swim in the ocean in the afternoon if we wanted to. If we liked cold water. The Pacific was cold most of the year, but now it was in the low 60’s, which, if you’ve never been in water like that, was pretty cold.
We were having a very rainy December. It had already rained three times and we hadn’t even gotten to Christmas yet.
Basketball wasn’t my best sport, but I could play it. I’d improved since the day in Gerry’s back yard where I was a total dweeb. I was tall enough now to hold my own. I wasn’t really a rough and tumble kind of kid and didn’t like playing inside, under the boards, a whole lot, but I had a decent shot and could dribble okay. When the teams were chosen, my dad had the best players pick their teams, that way insuring they weren’t all on the same team together. I was one of the earlier kids chosen, to my surprise. I got chosen by Brent. I studied his face when he called my name. It was blank. I couldn’t tell if he’d chosen me because he thought I was good, or for some other reason.
I decided it was for that some other reason when, on his next pick, he chose Kevin.
Kevin had been growing. He wasn’t as short as he’d been. I thought he was probably going through puberty, though he hadn’t said anything. But we still swam together sometimes on the weekends and I’d noticed some hair in his pits. He wasn’t showering with us, but I was starting to wonder if he’d do that soon. I supposed I should ask him. About the puberty thing. I hadn’t.
Kevin had been growing, but he was still one of the shorter kids. He attacked basketball with the same reckless abandon and high energy he did everything else, though, and seemed to think he was as big as everyone else. When we played, I tended to stay on the outer edges of the game; Kevin fearlessly played the whole floor, getting into the land of elbows, hips and knees, even managing to collect a few rebounds when he was able to successfully box someone out, which he did with a fierce intensity. I admired his courage and fire, and wished I had more of them myself.
We were playing against the team Scott was on today. We always played man-on-man defense, and so did all our opponents. Scott chose to defend me.
He was bigger than I was, but the way I looked at it was, him guarding me was a good thing for our team. By guarding me, he was forced away from the boards, and his size outside wasn’t the factor it would have been had he guarded someone who crashed inside more than I ever did. So he was hurting his team, staying outside to guard me. But I quickly got the idea he wasn’t all that interested in basketball anyway.
The game was fast and furious like always. We played full court, but there were five courts that ran across the gym floor, side to side across the school’s regular court, so the distance we had to run, basket to basket, was about two thirds of a normal court. The coaches did a good job of controlling things, so all our games, basketball included, were fun as much as competition.
Scott was guarding me, and doing so really tightly. There was no reason for that. I was on the outside, and really didn’t get the ball that much, but he was playing up against me. I’d try to fake and go around him without the ball just to gain some physical separation, but he stayed pretty much glued to me.
Then I noticed while he was doing this, his eyes were all over, and not just on our court. He was looking around the gym. A funny feeling settled in my stomach. I’d seen that sort of behavior from guys before. He was checking where the coaches were, and what they were looking at.
I had figured this out when he suddenly spoke to me. “Hey, queer boy, I see you got your boyfriend on your team. How convenient.”
I made a quick step backwards, then juked to the side, trying just to get some space between us. He stayed right with me. I didn’t try to answer him. What good would it do? I was feeling really nervous now. Why did my stomach always get queasy when I was in a situation like this?
“You guys get it on together a lot? What do you do? I’ll bet you make him suck your dick. That right? He a little cocksucker? Sure he is. You are too, huh?”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t even looking at him any longer. I watched as Brent went up and almost dunked the ball and the teams headed back down the floor, running past us, as we were both standing still.
I watched them run past, then briefly glanced up at Scott, and saw his eyes flashing around the gym. I looked back to see Brent about to pass us when I felt a sudden sharp pain in my ribs. Scott had thrown a hard elbow into me.
I gasped as I dropped to my knees. The pain brought tears to my eyes. I was unable to control them. They were just there. I looked at the floor hoping no one could see them, but that didn’t work. I heard Scott’s voice, full of glee. “Oh, look, the little girl’s crying!”
And then there was a sort of crashing noise, and loud, “Oof!” and Scott was lying next to me on the floor. I looked up, and Brent was standing there. He was looking down at Scott, and his eyes were fierce.
“What the fuck you doing, Tanner?” he asked.
Scott started to sit up, and Brent used his foot against his shoulder to roughly push him back down. By now, the entire gym had gone silent. It’s amazing how quickly the promise of a fight will cause that to happen.
Before anything else could be said, my father and two other coaches were there.
“What’s going on here?” my dad asked no one in particular, his voice hard and no-nonsense, the voice he used when he expected to be answered.
Brent answered him, his anger still hot in his voice. “This asshole was standing here next to Matt, he’s been hanging on him all game when Matt didn’t even have the ball, and for no reason at all, when Matt wasn’t even looking at him, he hit him really hard in the ribs with his elbow, then started laughing at him.”
I didn’t like being on my knees with everyone in the gym looking at us. I got to my feet, but had trouble straightening up. My side was sore, and the muscles were cramping. I had to lean slightly to the side to allow for them.
My father looked down at Scott, who was still on his back, Brent still looming over him. “Is that what happened, Scott?” he asked.
“No. I was just guarding Matt and this fuck-, ah, I mean, Brent came down court and slammed into me.”
My father looked at me. “What happened, Matt?”
I didn’t like this at all. This is what got me in trouble a couple years ago. Then, I merely threatened to go to my father. Now, he was asking me to tell on another kid, and in front of the entire class.
There was a difference, however. I was older now.
I had a better idea who I was. I wasn’t intimidated by Scott the way I had been. So, I decided to answer the question. And let the chips fall where they may.
But there was no reason to be stupid about it either. “I don’t really know what happened. I was in the middle of the floor, just standing there. Scott was guarding me. We were all by ourselves, no one else around. Brent scored a basket, everyone was running down the floor, I was watching them, and I felt this pain in my side. It was enough to knock me down, and I went down on my knees. I was still down there when Scott made a remark, and then suddenly hit the floor next to me. I looked up and Brent was standing there. That’s all I know.”
My father looked around. “Anyone else see anything?”
A boy on our team named Les Margulies spoke up. “Yeah, I saw it. I saw Scott elbow Matt. Matt went down, and just then Brent was coming up the floor. I don’t know whether he was able to avoid Scott or not, I don’t know whether he even saw him standing there or not, he might not have, but he ran into him.”
My father turned back to Scott. “Weren’t you warned, a couple years ago, warned about intimidating other kids? Weren’t you told there’d be no further warnings, that you’d be expelled if anything like this happened again? I think you were. I know you were. We might have seen the last of you around here. Let’s go. Get up. You and I are going to visit the principal.”
He didn’t reach his hand down to help Scott up. The gym was still silent as he arose. Scott looked around, and all there was to see were unsmiling faces looking back at him. My father took hold of his upper arm. Scott tried to shake his hand off, and my father tightened his grip. My father has large hands and, when he wants, a really hard grip. I saw his knuckles whiten, and heard Scott yelp. He didn’t try to shake the hand off any more. They marched to the gym doors and out.
The gym was still quiet. One of the assistants called out, “Okay men, let’s hit the showers. The time’s almost up anyways.”
Everyone started making their way to the locker room. Kevin had come up to me and was standing next to me, and Brent was still there. Soon, we were the only three in the gym.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I raised my eyes to Brent’s. “Thanks. I don’t know . . . just thanks, I guess.”
Brent smiled. “No problem. Hope that fucker gets kicked out. I never did like him.” Then, as he started to walk away, Kevin jumped in front of him and stuck out his hand. Brent looked down at him, sort of grinned and shook it.
Kevin called to him, as he was walking away, “Hey, you ever need any help, kicking ass, just call on me. I’m ready to go anytime.”
Brent didn’t turn around, but I clearly heard him laughing as he opened the locker room door.
◊ ◊
The Christmas Concert was on the night of our last day of school for the year. We were playing some traditional carols and a couple of other pieces, one being Leroy Anderson’s Sleigh Ride. I love Leroy Anderson’s music. All his pieces were fun to play and were crowd pleasers, just as this one was.
At the start of the concert, all the rest of the kids in the band took their places, and then I had to walk out by myself and tune the band. By that, I mean I had to play a concert A, and the rest of the band tuned to that. I made sure I was in tune myself, using a tuning fork, right before I went out. Then, when all the kids were in their chairs and the audience was still, I walked out alone onto the stage, and everyone clapped. I tried real hard not to blush, but I think I did anyway. This was my first time doing this, and though I knew what to do, it was still a heart-pounding, knee-shaking experience. I bowed briefly to the audience, more dipping my head than anything else, then turned to the band and played my note. It was a little shaky at first, but quickly became a pure sound as I firmed my embouchure and steadied my diaphragm, and the band tuned to it like they’d been taught, the brass and low instruments first, then just the higher woodwinds when I’d taken a breath and played the tuning note again.
When I sat down, in the brief pause while we waited for Mr. T. to come out to the podium, I looked out over the crowd, trying to spot my parents. I finally found them. And I was surprised but pleased to see Kevin and his mother sitting with them.
We played the concert and got a lot of applause, which was as it should be because our band was really good this year. Better than last, and we’d been good then. I felt great about everything, until we were rising again for the second time to the standing ovation we were getting, standing after Mr. T. indicated we should. I stood, looked out at the audience, and found my parents again, and then sort of did a second take. Standing next to Kevin, clapping along with him, but looking at him, not at us up on the stage, was the boy who’d asked to sign Matt’s cast at lunch, the boy who I thought had spent way too much time staring at Kevin.
Timothy.